


The Best of Collisions Verse

by nyxocity



Category: Smallville, Supernatural
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Leather Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxocity/pseuds/nyxocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly PWP. </p><p>Part 1: While investigating a case, Dean meets a costumed superhero who calls himself Green Arrow. Dean's never seen the guy's face behind the mask, but he's never let that get in the way of a good time.</p><p>Part 2: Green Arrow makes good on his promise to take Dean to a room. Dean doesn't need to know what the guy looks like to do this--that's what makes it even hotter, as far as Dean's concerned.</p><p>Part 3: Dean thinks it's coincidence that he's back in Smallville. It turns out to be anything but. His mystery super hero hook-up is about to become a startlingly real, known quantity.</p><p>Part 4: Now that Dean knows Green Arrow is Oliver Queen, it's time that he and Sam got more acquainted with each other <i>and</i> Dean, and Dean has never been more grateful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As Long As You Don't Stop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aythia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aythia/gifts).



Dean isn’t 100% sure how this happened--him pressed face-first against this dirty back alley wall with his pants down around his ankles, getting fucked within an inch of his life by a motherfucking super hero of all things—but he sure as hell isn’t going to complain, because god damn, the guy is really giving it to him. Giving it to him so hard and good that he’s glad he’s shoved against the wall, because his knees don’t feel like they could take all his weight right now. Not with the way the guy is fucking him from behind, talking to him in that sexy, gritty voice, saying the craziest, filthiest things.

“God, such a slut. Spreading your legs for me… don’t even know what I look like…” 

Jesus. It’s true. He _doesn’t_ really know what the guy looks like except for his hot fucking mouth and the angle of his jaw, and that just makes Dean even harder, cock twitching and aching with need.

“Don’t care, do you? Long as you’re getting fucked.” The guy punctuates the words with a violent thrust of his hips, sinking quick and hard and so deep inside Dean that Dean feels like he’s going to turn inside out, hitting a spot that makes his eyes flutter back in his head.

Dean feels his cheeks flood with heat, shame doing nothing to distract his dick from its singular need to be touched. He really _doesn’t_ care as long as the guy doesn’t stop.

“Letting a complete stranger fuck you like this… use you like this.” Deep voice, gritty and growling into his ear, leather gloved hands gripping his bare hips, holding him in place. Rub of leather all against him everywhere he isn’t getting fucked, and it’s all such a fucking turn on that he can barely stand it. 

“Getting off on it so hard, aren’t you?” The words are a heavy, heated whisper, laced with amusement and knowing. Leather-encased fingers close around his cock and he twists, feeling like he’s going to tear out of his skin at the touch, cock jerking and leaking wet against the leather. Jesus, the _gloves_ , and it’s almost pitiful how painfully hard the thought makes him, need and want gnashing in his gut with vicious teeth.

“God, you _are_ getting off on it.” The guy’s voice is dripping sin, and Dean feels filthy with it, cheeks flushing hot as he grinds his ass back on the guy’s dick then rocks forward into his hand. He flushes even hotter at the dirty chuckle the guy makes when he does it, but he can’t help it, doesn’t care, can’t stop, shoving back to meet the guy’s next thrust, orgasm building like wildfire, balls tightening. 

“So ready to come, aren’t you? Come on, slut,” fingers fisting around Dean’s dick, jerking up the length. “Come on my cock.” 

The words register in Dean’s brain with a burst of guilty pleasure that’s almost violent, leather fingers jerking him off, cock pounding into his ass, sensations hitting him all at once, and God, fuck, he’s gonna come on this guy’s cock, shoved against a dirty alley wall and he’s never even seen the guy’s _face_. Teeth close on the back of his neck, biting down hard, and that’s it.

He goes flying over the edge, cock pulsing and spurting out jagged streaks of come so violently that later he’ll find droplets clinging to the bottom of his chin, but right now he doesn’t even notice, whole body tightening down, orgasm ripping through him, obliterating everything else except the way the guy is hammering his ass and twisting his hips to hit the sweet spot, leather fingers stripping his cock so hard and fast that the friction almost burns, and the tease of pain makes Dean come even harder. 

“God… squeezing my cock… so tight,” the guy grunts, hips stuttering in the instant before he buries himself deep inside Dean’s ass, and then drags out, fucking into Dean even harder, teeth fastening on the back of Dean’s neck as he comes, biting down so hard that the pain ripples through Dean like a shock, turning to pleasure, cock pulsing out a last, weak stripe.

The guy keeps fucking him, hips bucking and shuddering until he finally grinds to a halt, teeth releasing their hold, panting out hot breath against Dean’s skin. 

Dean just stands there against the wall, taking his weight and trying to catch his own breath. He isn’t sure what happens next. He’s known this guy—Green Arrow, he calls himself—all of maybe an hour now. Turns out, this guy’s investigating the same case Dean followed here, and the original plan was to work together. Dean thinks things might be a little awkward, now, though.

To his surprise, when the guy pulls away, he slaps Dean playfully on the ass. 

“Come on. We’ve got a mystery to solve. After that, we can get a room.”

Dean pushes off the wall and starts pulling himself together, thinking about having hours and hours alone with him, dressed in his costume and mask the whole time, or maybe completely naked with Dean blindfolded.

Fuck, he hopes they figure this case out quick.

  
  



	2. Keep It Coming

The room is big, Dean can tell, the way the guy’s voice echoes of the walls and ceiling, and the bed he’s lying on is probably the most comfortable thing he’s ever felt against his skin. Whoever Green Arrow really is underneath the leather hood and dark glasses, he’s got money.

Not that Dean particularly _cares_ about that right now, lying naked on the huge, soft bed, piece of cloth tied around his eyes, keeping him blinded, that low, gritty voice talking filth, deft hands tying him to the bed. Thrill in his stomach, excitement and anticipation rising through him, and he wouldn’t trust just anyone to tie him up like this, but after what they’ve been through tonight, the guy’s more than earned his trust.

Even if Dean doesn’t know his name or what the upper half of his face looks like. 

And if he’s honest, not knowing that is more than half the reason he’s so turned on right now, dick rock hard already. Leather encased fingers touching his skin, tracing up the line of his calf, the inside of his thigh, and fuck, the leather just makes him even harder, cock twitching, beading pre-come. 

“Look at you… all spread out… spread open for me. Already so hard.”

Dean can only imagine how he must look, tied spread open on the bed, cock so hard it nearly hurts, pre-come glistening at the tip, practically begging to get fucked, and the image sends blood flushing hot through his cheeks. There’s a part of him that’s ashamed of how much this is turning him on, but it doesn’t make a dent in how much he wants it, which just makes him even more ashamed, and he wants to get fucked, _now_ , godammit. 

Leather dragging a line up the center of his cock and he breathes out hard, thought dissolving, cock jerking against his belly, wetness leaking from the tip.

The guy chuckles, deep and dirty in his throat, leather fingertip just touching the slick spot at the tip of his dick, swirling around the slit, playing in the mess as Dean hisses and twists, arching.

“You gonna fuck me…” it’s an effort for Dean to push the words past his lips, “or tease me all goddamned night?” 

“You think I tied you up because I was in a hurry?” the guy asks, and his voice is filled with wicked amusement.

Jesus. Dean doesn’t have words for that, throat dry as he swallows hard.

Dean can hear leather crinkle, then the click of something settling against the night stand beside the bed. Whole body tensing in anticipation for what’s coming next, and then he feels the weight of the guy creep onto the bed, soft brush of short hair against his chest, turn of a bare cheek against him, teeth closing around his nipple and tugging, leather fingertips playing at the crease of his thigh.

Dean jolts against the bed in surprise, pulling away for an instant before his brain catches up, before he shoves up into the sensation, groaning out against the sharp feel of teeth, twisting inside the smooth lengths of rope holding him. He doesn’t have much room to arch, not nearly enough, and the guy pulls away, teeth scraping against the hard nub of his nipple, sensation shooting straight to his dick.

“Might have to tie you tighter,” the guy remarks, calculating. “Teach you some patience.”

Dean feels his stomach drop out with the words, want coursing through him. Fire through his veins, and there’s part of him that wants exactly that. Wants to be tied down tight and let this guy do whatever he wants to him. But there’s another part of him that just isn’t that patient. That’s the part that usually runs his mouth—like now, for instance.

“Shut up and fuck me, already.”

The guy rolls on top of him, weight settling in—and shit, he’s still covered in leather, muscles flexing underneath, texture catching against Dean’s bare skin—hot, hard length of his cock slipping through the pool of pre-come on Dean’s stomach, the only part of him that’s exposed. Gliding up alongside the edge of Dean’s dick, and Dean’s breath catches in his chest.

Teeth close against the line of Dean’s throat, releasing, tongue swirling up the length of his pulse. Fingers closing around his chin, jerking his face down, and he can feel the guy’s breath against his mouth, so hot, so close. 

“Don’t make me gag you,” fingertips sliding up Dean’s chin, squeezing the skin around his mouth, forcing his lips to purse, teeth nipping sharply at his lower lip. “I _like_ the way you sound when you beg.” 

“Besides. I’ve got plans for this mouth.”

Dean shudders, pulling up against the ropes, and just the _thought_ of this guy fucking his mouth is enough to make his cock convulse, squeezing out more beads of pre-come.

“Plans I’m pretty sure you can get behind.” One last press of lips against Dean’s, and then the guy moves, grabbing hold of Dean’s shoulders, cock dragging and slipping up his stomach, the center of his chest, head of it pressing against the point of his chin, gliding up and over.

Hot, wet skin like silk as Dean parts his lips, licking over the tip, and he can’t move much further, or he would, lips wrapped around the head. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Push and thrust, taste of salt bitter against the back of his throat. Dean groans, sound vibrating through his mouth into the guy’s cock, and he’ll feel bad about how much he wants this later, sucking and tonguing against hot skin.

“Fuck, yeah, take it,” the guy groans, hips surging into Dean, hand closing around the back of his head. Thumb smearing across his upper lip. “Look so goddamn good with your mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Dean can’t see him—wouldn’t be able to look the guy in the eye even if he wasn’t wearing a blindfold—but he knows the guy is watching, looking down as his other hand frames Dean’s jaw, tugging him down, fucking into him, and if he weren’t tied down… if he could see…

If he even knew who the fuck this guy was—

But he doesn’t, and he _is_ tied down, and that’s exactly why it’s so motherfucking hot. Dean opens his mouth, sucking eagerly, feels the reward of the guy’s body hitting his chin, leather grinding and shoving, cock head hitting the back of his throat.

“God. Your fucking mouth.” Twist and pitch of rolling hips, shoving in, yanking back. Slick skin skidding over his tongue, and Dean opens his throat wider, lets the muscles relax, lips tightening around the shaft, sucking hard. He can feel the guy groan, hips stuttering, thumbs angling Dean’s jaw so he can push just a fraction deeper—and then he’s off like a shot, riding Dean’s mouth with quick, deep thrusts that threaten at the edge of cutting off Dean’s air. 

The thought sends a sharp spike of heat through his belly, sliver of delicious fear winding through him, cock is so hard it almost hurts. He groans, letting the tip his tongue curl up the underside of the guy’s dick as he slams deep, hears the guy hiss out a curse, hips twisting. Hands angling Dean’s mouth back a little, and fuck, the guy is positioning him, putting Dean exactly where he wants him, and it’s so hot.

“So good,” shivering and shuddering, cock sliding to fill Dean’s mouth slowly, pushing all the way to the back of his throat, hips wiggling, sinking deeper, “letting me use you like this. Letting a complete stranger _have_ you like this.”

The guy groans, cock dragging back, heart-shaped cockhead stopping just inside Dean’s lips before he shoves in again, slow and easy, wriggling a little deeper this time, holding just inside Dean’s throat. Dean feels the muscles convulse as he chokes, gag reflex finally kicking in, squeezing the guy’s cock relentlessly hard.

“Oh, God, fuck yeah,” the guy grunts, hands squeezing against Dean’s jaw, using his knees to shove the tiniest bit deeper.

The muscles in Dean’s throat flutter convulsively for a few seconds, lungs trying to pull in air, cock twitching against the air, pumping out another trickle of pre-come.

“Could choke you out… fuck your hot little mouth all night,” the guy breathes raggedly.

And God, just the thought of it—

“But I’ve got plans for the rest of you, too.”

The guy pulls back, cock slipping free of Dean’s mouth, and Dean sucks in a quick breath. His lips are raw and slightly numb, feel vaguely bruised as the guy rubs a leather-covered thumb across them. 

“Even hotter with your mouth all used and fucked out,” he whispers with something like approval, teeth closing around Dean’s lower lip, tongue flashing across the swell between.

He takes his time, then, licking and sucking his way down Dean’s body, tongue tracing out the lines of his collar bone, pausing to pay special attention to each of Dean’s nipples, suckling and biting them until they’re overly sensitive, each tug like exploding fireworks until Dean’s twisted up inside and out, body sheathed sweat, yanking helplessly at his bonds. Leather catching and sticking against his skin, mouth trailing down his stomach muscles, chin just brushing against the hot, tight skin of his cock.

Dean’s seen the lower half of the guy’s face, and fuck, lips so close to the head of his cock, and he can feel it push out another slow stretch of pre-come, imagining that hot fucking mouth wrapped around him.

The guy’s tongue flickers against the sensitive spot under the head, and Dean’s hips jolt up from the bed as he cries out in surprise and pleasure, wanting more. He can feel the puff of the guy’s quiet laugh against his over-sensitized skin, and then that tongue unfurls against, tracing underneath the ridge of Dean cockhead. It’s slow and torturous, and it feels so fucking good that Dean’s stretched, straining against the bed, muscles tied in knots as he shivers and sweats into the sheets, trying to get more sensation.

“Look at you.” Dean can feel the guy’s breath, so close to where he wants the guy’s mouth, and he twitches, aching with need. “So fucking turned on you’re _covered_ in pre-come.” Dean feels his cheeks flush hot, knows his belly is soaked with pre-come, pool of it gathered in the light delineation between his stomach muscles. Can feel the guy run his fingers through it, smearing it down to the base of Dean’s dick, light swirl around the base making Dean’s cock quiver.

“Cock all swollen, you’ve been so hard for so long. Even the slightest touch… and…” tip of his tongue skating across the slit and Jesus, so good that he whimpers, jolting against the bed, dick squeezing out another small burst of pre-come. 

The guy makes a sound that’s half dark amusement and half approval, and Dean feels his face turn even hotter, knowing the guy is watching as it slowly drips down the length of Dean’s aching cock, even that slight sensation enough to make him squirm. 

Another slow lick across the head of Dean’s dick, and Dean snaps, struggling against the ropes holding him, mouth falling open, begging in breathless gasps.

“Fuck. Sound so good when you beg. Makes me wanna fuck you again.”

Leather fingertip pressing between the cleft of him, teasing at the rim, flash of tongue up the underside of his dick, and Dean is going to fucking lose his mind.

“Gonna need to retie you for this,” the guy whispers, breathing out hot against Dean’s cock, and Dean moans, hips trying to wriggle closer.

“You’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you, Dean?” Words breathed out with another slow circle of tongue around the slit of Dean’s cock, and Dean would do any-fucking-thing right now as long as the guy doesn’t stop.

Hands working quickly with expertise, untying one of Dean’s ankles and then folding it, back of his calf against the back of his thigh, winding rope around both until they’re secured together. When the guy is done with that, he takes a minute to pause, tongue swirling against the hot, tight fullness of Dean’s balls, up to the base of his cock. Another light lick of a promise against the sensitive tip, leaving Dean nearly senseless while he unties and reties Dean’s other leg. 

“Such a good boy,” the guy tells him, gritty voice rich with approval. “Almost done.”

Ropes tied around his waist, thighs and calves secured against either side of his body, spreading him wide open to the world, helpless to do anything about it, and it’s fucking insane, how humiliated and turned on Dean is right now, letting a virtual stranger do this to him.

“God I’d love to get a picture of you right now…” leather fingertips teasing at the exposed rim of Dean’s asshole, “all trussed up like Christmas turkey, cock red and rock hard, leaking against your belly, hot ass spread wide open, so ready to get fucked.”

The words hit him like a shot of adrenaline, prickling through him hot and sharp, cock straining against his belly, pulsing out wet warmth. Dean turns his face into the cool softness of the pillow, face burning with shame at how fucking turned on this making him, glad as hell that he’s wearing a blindfold.

He can hear the guy moving around, opening a drawer, and then, closer, body settling between Dean’s spread legs, the unmistakable sound of a cap being flipped open—and God, he’s right there, can see _everything_ , breathing out against where Dean’s exposed. Leather fingertip, slick with lube pressing against his hole, and God, fuck, Dean has just a second to realize what’s about to happen before the guy pushes, wriggling inside with the leather still on.

Rough tug and pull, faint burn and sting, and Jesus, leather working inside him, filling him, stretching and curling, opening him up. It’s hotter than hell, second finger pushing inside and Dean’s ready for it, still open from the guy fucking him earlier tonight. Spread out on the guy’s bed for the taking, loving every second of it, leather covered fingers inside him and there’s no excuse for how fucking hard and desperate it makes him, hips pushing up within the inch or so of room the rope leaves him, teeth gritted together. Fucking fingers inside Dean with his gloves still on.

The guy’s tongue flickers out, tasting the fresh pre-come beading on the head of Dean’s cock, fingers reaching and twisting, tips curling against that spot inside him that makes his head rock back against the pillow, mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut, feeling like he’s going to burn up inside his skin.

“So fucking hot,” the guy hisses, lips closing around the head of Dean’s dick, sucking against the slit, fingers curling into the sweet spot inside him.

Dean’s hips jerk, and God, fuck, he’s going to—

“Not until I fuck you,” the guy grates, pulling his mouth from Dean’s cock, leaving Dean writhing, groaning in frustration. “Been waiting all night to feel you come on my cock again.” Fingers driving deeper inside Dean, brushing that spot. “The way your ass clenches down around me, milking me dry.”

“You’ve got _such_ a hot ass,” the guy whispers, tongue tracing a half circle around the rim of Dean’s asshole, around his leather covered fingers.

Words and sensation hit Dean like an explosion, rocking into the feel of fingers buried inside him, that tongue against him. So wrong, so filthy, and he wants to feel bad about it, but he _doesn’t_ , not nearly enough. Just _wants_ , and maybe he’s got a whole thing for being tied up and fucked by a virtual stranger whose face he’s never seen—or maybe it’s just this guy in particular—he’ll deal with it later, reap the benefits now.

“Fuck me.” The words are a rough, gritty garble, filled with need, body straining against his bonds. “Please.”

“God, begging for it.” Lips gliding up the length of his cock, humming out approval, fingers pulling from him with a last twist around the inside of the rim, and Dean’s trembling, shaking, on the verge before the guy pulls back.

He can hear the guy opening the condom package, the way he grunts as he strokes it on and then slicks himself. Anticipation consuming Dean, thighs falling open even wider against his sides, and he knows how exposed he is, doesn’t even care, as long as the guy’s going to fuck him.

Hands falling on either side of him against the bed, hips rocking, blunt, wet cockhead pushing against him, teasing back, teeth scraping against the line of Dean’s throat. “You don’t even know my name. What I look like. But you want me to fuck you, don’t you Dean?”

Dean has no idea why the guy using his name when Dean doesn’t know his makes the whole thing even hotter, but it does, almost too close, too intimate, and he can’t argue—wants this too much _because_ of all that. “Fuck yes.”

The guy’s hips thrust forward, cock shoving inside him, and Dean closes his hands into useless fists, head snapping back against the pillow, hips pushing up to take the guy’s dick even deeper inside the little room he has to move. He doesn’t have to move much, guy rushing to fill him all the way to the bottom, breath shoved out of his lungs and gasped back in like a revelation. Jesus, he’s so fucking full, and it feels so good.

“Almost a complete stranger,” the guy breathes, thumb smearing the corner of Dean’s mouth, muscles trembling, “fucking you… using you...” Hips dragging back, teasing to the rim before he shoves back inside, filling Dean so hard and quick that Dean can almost feel his brain blow out the back of his skull. “And you love it. Don’t you?”

God, he really _does_ , too far gone to even care.

“All spread out and helpless… getting your hot ass fucked out,” hips thrusting inside him, twisting and turning, hitting every sweet spot along the way. “And you…” shuddering thrust, making his teeth snap together, “fucking…” push, shiver, shove, and Jesus fuck, so good, “love it.”

“Don’t you… Dean?” hips pistoning into him like the best punishment ever. Hand closing around his jaw, forcing his face up.

“Fuck yes,” he breathes. “Don’t stop.”

“Such a slut,” the guy rasps, hips hammering into Dean, world going white behind his eyes with pleasure, every thrust hitting that sweet spot inside him, push and pull of the guy’s body against his cock almost enough—almost. 

“Yeah. Come on. Come on my cock,” the guy whispers, turning his face against Dean’s, fingers slipping down between their bodies, grabbing at the base of his dick, sliding up the length, thumbing underneath the head, and oh, oh _fuck_ \--

Dean comes like train wreck, jagged and violent, erupting like a volcano, spurting against the guy’s stomach, slicking the friction between their bodies, ass squeezing and convulsing around the guy’s cock, and he can hear the guy hiss out a sudden breath, cock driving even deeper inside of him, making his dick pulse even harder, spattering the space between them. Teeth and fingernails digging deep into his skin, hips stuttering and twisting, fucking into him erratically as the guy comes.

“Feel… so… fucking _good_.”

Dean can barely hear him over how hard he’s finally coming, but it’s enough to send another convulsion tearing through him, ripping away every last thought until they’re both lying against the bed, guy’s weight pliant and sinking into him, spent and gasping for air.

“So…” the guy breathes, unevenly, chin lifting, teeth biting at the lobe of Dean’s ear. “You still planning on leaving town tonight?”

The sensation sends chills down Dean’s spine, dick twitching in a last, valiant effort. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“I really do,” the guy says, hands reaching up, beginning to untie the knots at his wrist.

  
  



	3. Coming Back for More

Dean thinks it’s probably one of the most amazing coincidences in his life, that he’s ended up back in the ass crack of Nowhere, America-- aka, Smallville, Kansas. Then again, given this town’s bend toward the weird, maybe it’s not such a coincidence. But this case seems less like a Smallville meteor freak and more like something he’d hunt.

Up ahead in the alley, Dean can see a darker shape among the shadows, barely there, a wraith against the blackness.

He catches Sam’s eye, motions in the direction of the shape with a jerk of his head, lifting his gun, training the sight on it.

“Don’t shoot,” the figure says, turning, emerging from shadow. 

Skin tight leather silhouetted by the alley light as he steps into view, and Dean doesn’t even need to see the shape of the hood covering the guy’s face before he knows who it is. He’d recognize that voice _anywhere_.

“Green Arrow.”

“Dean,” the guy responds.

“Dean?” Sam’s question is so much more than the syllable of his name.

Dean tucks his gun against the small of his back, one corner of his mouth pulling in a smirk. “It’s okay, Sam. We know each other.”

Sam looks back and forth between them for a moment and then slowly lowers his gun. 

“I thought you were making that up,” Sam hisses in a stage whisper, like he can’t believe it. 

“Told you,” Dean says out the side of his mouth to his brother, smirk curling deeper.

“You’re Dean’s brother?” Green Arrow asks, hood turning toward Sam.

“Yeah. I am,” Sam answers, finally putting his gun away.

“So where’s the monster?” Dean asks, stepping forward.

“There is no monster,” he tells Dean, gritty voice going straight to the best parts of Dean’s brain.

Part of Dean wants to revel in exactly how that voice makes him feel—the things it did to him last time he heard it—but this is supposed to be business.

“What do you mean there’s no monster?”

“I mean there isn’t one. I laid the trail for you to follow.”

Dean’s momentarily caught off guard, putting the pieces together. 

“Sam?” Dean says, looking at his brother.

Sam nods with a roll of his eyes. He holds out one hand before Dean even pulls out the car keys. The look that passes between them says that they’ll talk about this later—in great detail.

Sam’s footsteps retreat down the alleyway until there’s nothing but silence between them, broken only by the occasional staccato drip of water from building rooftops to the asphalt.

“You could’ve just called,” Dean finally says, adding just a touch of sarcasm.

“On my bat phone?” the guy asks with way more than a touch of sarcasm.

“Pre-paid cellphones, pretty much untraceable.”

“Not in my line of work,” the guy shoots back, cynicism cinched around the words. “Besides,” he goes on, taking a step closer to Dean, “you’re not the easiest person to track down.”

“Not even in your line of work?” Dean can’t help asking, and God, but the guy’s close, that hot mouth so close Dean’s that Dean can feel his breath on his skin.

“You’re good at flying under the radar. But I gotta say,” the guy says, stepping even closer into Dean’s space, “for a guy who’s supposedly been dead for years, I remember you being _very_ lively a few weeks ago.”

Fuck. It’s not like Dean’s forgotten, cheeks flushing with the memory, the way he’d let this guy do anything and everything to him. The way he’d loved it.

Hands tugging at his hips, pulling him closer, decadent, gorgeous mouth brushing his. “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” the guy confesses, walking Dean backwards until his shoulder hit brick, muscles pressing up against him through the cover of leather, lips sweet, wet, heat against Dean’s.

Dean’s already hard as a rock; lithe, muscular body against his, that gravelly voice winding through his brain, wicked, darting tongue into his mouth that wipes away every last semblance of thought.

“Not here. Come with me.” It’s not quite a question, the guy’s fingers gripping Dean’s hips, body rolling into his. “Like last time.”

Dean can feel the shiver work up his spine, want throbbing through him. “Yeah. Okay.”

Sam’s already secured a motel room by now, and Dean texts him, just to make sure his brother knows he won’t be back until at least the morning—which he’s sure Sam already knew. And then Green Arrow’s back, silken piece of black cloth held between his hands.

Dean takes another blindfolded ride on the guy’s motorcycle, electric twists and turns of the guy’s body against his until they park and Dean lets the guy lead Dean up through the elevator to his suite. 

They stop several steps inside the room, guy’s mouth close to his, hands reaching up and around Dean.

“No blindfolds now,” he whispers, tugging the silken cloth from Dean’s eyes.

Dean blinks in surprise against the light, the guy’s features sharpening into focus. Hood pulled back, and he’s gorgeous, brown eyes and short-cropped blond hair, nose sharp and long and perfectly carved above his wide, full mouth, angled jaw and pointed chin. Around him, the room is huge, wide open and white, smooth curves and arches, perfect lighting shining down on both of them.

It takes Dean a few seconds to _see_ him. It takes a few more before realization strikes, struggling sluggishly through his disbelieving mind.

Dean knows this guy. He _recognizes_ him.

Oliver Queen. Jesus. He’s Oliver fucking _Queen_. Green Arrow is Oliver _motherfucking Queen_? 

The words proclaiming ‘Queen Industries” along a gigantic arch above the bas relief of a flat copper globe pretty much answer that question. They’re in the office of the president of Queen Industries, huge desk sprawling in the center of the places where the arches touch the floor.

Dean’s brain locks for a moment, wheels spinning in place before they catch tread. Oliver Queen’s not just famous—he’s a billionaire, a fucking _tycoon_ , one of the most important businessmen in the country. He’s been on the cover of just about every magazine in existence, he’s on the news all the damned time. The guy couldn’t be more high profile.

“You’re…”

“Yeah.”

Dean shakes his head, disbelieving, not understanding. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to see you again,” Oliver says, stepping closer. “I can’t blindfold you and tie you up forever.”

Dean’s not sure he understands that at all. “I really wouldn’t complain.”

“Me neither,” Oliver smirks. “And we can work with that. But I want you to _keep_ coming back. If you don’t _know_ me… why would you?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Dean says, words out of his mouth before he thinks the better of them.

Oliver’s leather fingertips brush his cheek, thumb settling against his jaw. “Come on, Dean. Someone without a face or a name…. that’s exciting for a night or two, something you can look back on from time to time. Not the kind of thing you go back to. Would you have ever come back if I hadn’t lured you?”

Dean doesn’t have the words to answer that—mostly because Oliver’s right. 

“Why do you trust me?”

“You told me your real name. You didn’t have to. You’re legally _dead_ , with a criminal record that goes on for pages. I could have exposed you. Even knowing me only as Green Arrow, you knew I had the resources. You trusted me.”

“You’re a super hero.”

“Doing what I do without any official legal backing? Working outside the law? In their eyes, I’m a vigilante.”

“Yeah. And before I ‘died’, they thought I was a mass murderer who desecrated graves for fun. The law doesn’t know shit.”

Oliver’s mouth pulls in a hard smile as he leans in, mouth brushing Dean’s. “That’s why I told you.”

Dean pulls back, trying to get his head around it all, turning his side toward Oliver. 

“You need time,” Oliver says, understanding.

Dean doesn’t answer, gears still churning inside his mind. 

“I’m just wondering…” Oliver says, leaning in so close that Dean can feel him breathe against Dean’s neck, lips barely brushing the sensitive skin. “How much time?”

“I don’t know,” Dean answers, head tilting backward, eyes fluttering closed. “Could be a while.”

“That’s too bad,” Oliver whispers, teeth scraping, closing down around the muscle in Dean’s throat. Bite slowly relenting, tongue slithering out, snaking in a swirl along Dean’s pulse. Teeth nipping at his throat, hand gripping his hip, guiding him back against Oliver’s body. Those lips close around his pulse, sucking and teasing, hips grinding into his ass, one hand holding Dean tight, other playing at the base of Dean’s throat. “Because I’m not inclined to wait.”

“Okay, that’s long enough,” Dean breathes out in a rush, shuddering, feeling heat quicken in his blood.

Oliver’s hand move in a blur, turning and pulling Dean, pushing him against the desk, arms sweeping everything out of their way on the way down. Weight of Oliver’s body sinking into Dean’s, hands closing around his wrists in a knot, teeth biting savagely into the line of his jaw. 

“Sure you don’t need more time?” Oliver whispers, and Dean can feel the way he grins. 

“Fuck you,” Dean manages, arching up into the exquisite feel of Oliver’s leather clad body against him, and shit, he’s so not fooling _anyone_ at this point. 

“Tomorrow, I’m gonna tie you down to this desk, fuck you like you really want me to.” Words whispered into his ear, hot and almost sweet. “Take you apart, piece by piece. But tonight… I’m as impatient as you are.” 

“Keep your hands where they are,” Oliver orders, hands working their way down, tugging at the button of Dean’s jeans. Dean’s spine climbs up from the desk, trying to help Oliver get a better grip, hands closing into a single fist above his head.

It’s like the first night all over again; Oliver getting Dean only as naked as he needs him, taking just enough time to open Dean up, leather-gloved fingers curving and crooking, wet with spit. Sweet sting and stretch, leather working in and out of him, making him rock hard, and then Oliver’s pulling him to the edge of the desk, pushing his knees up and apart. Ripping of a condom package, span of a couple heartbeats, and Oliver nudges against him, hot, hard cock pushing inside with a single, deep thrust, pushing all the breath from Dean’s lungs. Hands gripping him by the shoulders, leather clad body curled over his.

“God, the way you feel,” Oliver grates, dragging back, thrusting into him again. Hands sliding up Dean’s arms, pinning Dean’s wrists, locking them together inside the lattice of his fingers, mouth dragging wet and hot up the line of Dean’s throat. Dean arches his neck, pushes his hips up, and Oliver rewards him, fucking into him even harder.

“Still want it so much, don’t you? Even knowing who I am.”

No one’s ever done to Dean what Oliver has—he’s never let anyone—but now that he has, he’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter whether Oliver’s a stranger or a known quantity, as long as he keeps doing it. Maybe matters even less, now that he knows, because Jesus, Oliver Queen, hot ass, billionaire super hero, fucking him senseless, pounding, driving into him with the costume still on. It’s ridiculously hot, and Dean’s cheeks heat with the realization that he wants this pretty much any way Oliver wants to take him.

“Still want me to take you. Use you,” Oliver breathes the words out gritty, angling his hips up, thrusting, sending a flash of pleasure through Dean that nearly undoes him right there. “Don’t you?”

Hand closing around the girth of his cock, and he hisses, fucking up into Oliver eagerly. “Jesus. Fuck. Yes,” he groans, voice ragged.

“Come on,” sinuous whisper into Dean’s ear, heat and sensation flooding through him. “Come for me. Feel so goddamned good, the way you squeeze my cock.”

Dean twists and writhes, crying out and coming obediently, couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, the way Oliver’s fucking him, riding him like a goddamned racehorse, fist locked around his cock, moving perfect counterpoint rhythm. 

Teeth cinching around his collarbone, biting down so hard, and it explodes through Dean, pain mixing into the pleasure, heightening it as he comes even harder, feels Oliver’s cock flex and pulse inside him, pistoning hips shuddering .

“So… good for me… Dean.” Words bitten off against his skin and Dean’s gone, world blurring into white as he comes so hard it leaves him twitching and pulsing afterward, every slight touch of Oliver’s body against his enough to make him shiver and hiss.

When Dean emerges from his post-orgasm haze, Oliver is drawing slow sketches against his collarbone, eyes traveling to follow each movement of his fingers, expression thoughtful as he debates something.

“I meant what I said. I know you can’t stay here permanently… but I want you to keep coming back. I know it’s… probably strange… but you intrigued me. I did a lot of research on you. And the time we’ve spent… I feel like I know you better than I actually do.”

The really strange part, Dean thinks, is that he thinks Oliver probably _does_ know him better than Oliver thinks he does. Better than most people Dean encounters, anyway.

“I’ll come back, as long as you promise to stop being such a girl about it.”

Oliver’s mouth pulls in a cynical, smiling crunch. “Yeah, okay. I deserved that.”

Dean feels his mouth start to curve in a smirk just before Oliver grabs his chin with one gloved hand, squeezing tight. 

“But don’t get _too_ cocky,” he tells Dean, fingertips pressing in just a fraction deeper, teeth grazing against Dean’s lower lip. “Unless you _want_ me to put you back in your place.”

Dean feels a shiver ripple down his spine. “I can be a slow learner, sometimes.”

“I can teach you,” Oliver promises with so much intent that Dean’s spent cock jerks.

Oliver hums like he felt it, and Dean figures he’ll let the moment speak for itself. After a moment, Oliver’s hand relaxes, face pulling back to look at him.

“So… think you’ll stay a while this time?”

“I think we can spare a couple days,” Dean nods.

Oliver seems to think that over, brown eyes cutting away from Dean. “What about your brother?”

Dean’s mouth does the talking for him long before he has time to think the better of it. “He’ll probably want a threesome.”

Oliver’s brows rise high, eyes staring at Dean, and Dean… doesn’t have anything to say.

“So it’s like that,” Oliver says, and Dean can’t read his tone.

Oliver hasn’t been anything less than honest with Dean. And if they’re being honest… if this is gonna happen again, Dean needs to tell the truth, no matter how much he expects Oliver to judge him for it.

“Yeah,” Dean nods. 

Oliver nods in response, expression giving away nothing. “I suspected. Based on the intel I gathered on both of you. But I didn’t know for sure.”

Oliver is silent for so long after that that Dean thinks he’s probably fucked this whole thing up, and then Oliver’s eyes narrow on Dean, slow smile curving his mouth. 

“I think that can be arranged,” he agrees as he leans in to kiss Dean.

  
  



	4. Round and Round

Dean’s tied up, face down against Oliver’s comfy bed, arms behind his back, thighs tied to his calves, presented wide open, hands sliding up the backs of his thighs—his brother’s hands, Oliver’s hands touching him, and it’s so hot, so fucking hot, his cock rock hard against his belly.

“Jesus,” Sam breathes, fingers running up to touch him where he’s spread open wide, tips just pressing against his hole.

Dean groans out a breath, cheeks rushing red, pushing as much as he can into the feel of his brother’s touch.

Sam leans down, bare skin of his chest grazing Dean’s side, whispering dirty, low and growling in his ear, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

And God, he wants Sam to shut up—wants both of them to shut up, except for how much it’s turning him on, and Jesus, he’s such a slut for this. Doesn’t want them to stop.

“Didn’t know…” he manages to gasp, arching against his brother’s fingertips, Oliver’s hands playing with him, thumbs pressing into the space behind his balls, and Dean is going to die if they keep teasing him like this. “Fuck. Please,” he manages, words mangled.

Dean knows that for all the times they’ve fucked, Sam’s never seen him like this before, and Dean should care, but he really fucking _doesn’t_ , no matter how hard it makes him want to bury his face in the pillows and die.

“He loves being tied down,” Oliver whispers, his voice so close, and Dean can almost see the way he whispers to Sam, tongue flashing out to taste the curve of Sam’s ear, can feel the way Sam shudders at the sound, the touch, Sam’s teeth clenching around Dean’s earlobe.

“He loves being taken. Loves being helpless.” Oliver’s mouth moves to nip at the top of Dean’s spine. “Love it all, as long as you’re getting fucked. Don’t you, Dean?”

Dean bites down hard against his lower lip, face so hot he feels like he’s burning up, but it’s not like he can deny how hard his cock is right now, leaking against his belly, against his thighs tied underneath him, or the way he keeps trying to shove into his brother’s fingers against his hole.

“Yes,” he breathes, turning his face into the pillows, shutting his eyes tight. “God yes.”

“Fuck,” Sam breathes out hard, body shuddering against Dean. “So hot, Dean.”

“Let me show you,” Oliver whispers to Sam, hand wrapping around Sam’s, slick with lube, gliding down, slicking Sam’s fingers, “how much he loves it.”

Dean gasps in a breath, and then bites into the down of the pillow, their fingers sliding inside him together, just the tips, curling and stretching and making him moan, Oliver guiding Sam, whispering like sex and sin to his brother, “Yeah, see? Just like that.”

Dean’s hips shudder, and he can’t really shove into the sensation, but he _tries_ , groaning with the reward of feeling them both just a fraction deeper inside him.

“See how he loves it?” Oliver breathes, and the approval in his tone does things to Dean that he can’t even admit to, and Jesus, Sam is right _here_ , doing this to him with Oliver, seeing Dean’s every reaction, the way he can’t do anything except want it.

“Slow,” Oliver breathes, fingertip working inside Dean, curling and curving, “like this,” and Sam’s fingertip follows, working like a shadow of Oliver’s. 

Dean can feel the way they’re both moving inside him, slow rhythm in almost perfect tandem, but not quite, Sam just a fraction behind Oliver, stroking over each and every spot a second later, and fuck, it’s too much, both of them like this, sending double -ripples of pleasure up the length of Dean’s spine, making him groan and clench his teeth against the pillow. Fuck, he’d rut against them like a whore if he could find the leverage, but he can’t, and God, is he even doing this? By now he’d have Sam spread open, fucking him into the mattress, or Sam would be pounding into him.

It’s never been like this between them; this slow opening, this _teasing_ that’s going to undo him, kill him dead if he doesn’t get more.

This is something Oliver has taught him—but Sam’s learning pretty damned fast.

Jesus fuck.

Two slick fingertips moving against that spot, Oliver breathing out, “Yeah, right there,” and Dean bucks a fraction of an inch inside his bondage, teeth releasing the pillow in a hiss of blinding pleasure, Sam’s voice whispering, “Fuck yeah, Dean,” in his ear.

Sam’s getting off on this—fuck—he’s getting off on it so hard, other hand sliding around Dean’s chest, teasing at the hard bud of Dean’s nipple, and he’s not really expected to withstand this, is he? The assault of both their fingers inside him, pressing against that spot, Sam’s fingers teasing at his nipple, brother’s mouth breathing out and biting hard against his ear, Oliver’s other hand pressing against the back of his neck, holding him still while they make him try to writhe, moaning. Taking turns at tearing him apart, mouths and fingers and words, and they’re still not touching his cock, rock hard and leaking against his thighs without a chance for relief unless they let him.

They make him dance on the ends of their fingertips, Sam turning his face into a kiss, teeth biting into his lower lip while Oliver whispers, “See how good he is… the way he wants it… the way he takes it?”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean breathes into his brother’s mouth like he’s praying for mercy, swallowing down the sound he wants to make, both of them all over him, inside and out, Oliver trading his hand to bite at the base of Dean’s neck, fingers sliding down his ribs, across the slight dip of his waist to his hip. 

Oliver leans down, tongue lashing against Dean’s, tangling with his brother’s, and fuck, Dean can hear them kissing even over the fireworks short-circuiting his brain while they both finger him, and fuck, he’s so hard, needs to come so bad that he’s shaking, shuddering.

“You first, Sam,” Oliver breathes.

“No. Wanna see what you do to him. Wanna watch you fuck him, first.”

Dean thinks he may actually fucking _implode_ , the way they’re so casually discussing who should fuck him first. It’s stupidly, insanely hot, but, God, he doesn’t _care_ , just wants. 

“Either one of you, both of you, just fucking _do it_ ,” Dean grates out, holding onto his sanity by the barest thread.

“He’s bossy,” Oliver notes, fingertip still moving inside Dean, and Dean hisses, spine arching against the sensation.

“Try living with him,” Sam answers, voice breathy, fingertips pressing just behind Oliver’s.

Jesus, Dean is completely at their mercy and they’re enjoying the fuck out of this and he is going to _die_ if they don’t do something else soon.

“Maybe,” Oliver whispers, tone wicked, finger twisting and _pushing_ , “we should make him wait.” Stroking against that spot inside Dean that makes him moan and try to buck into the touch. “Teach him a lesson.”

“Mmm… I’d rather watch you fuck him,” Sam whispers back, and Dean can hear them kissing for a moment before the combined force of their fingers working inside him undoes him completely, leaving him slack and begging against the bed.

They both pull away, sliding out of him, and he can hear the sound of a condom package being torn open, hear the way Oliver moans, can only imagine Sam rolling it down the length of his cock, can barely hear what Sam’s whispering to Oliver, except the sound of his own name.

And then Oliver’s there, slick cock head pushing against him, hands gripping him by the hips, and Sam’s lying down beside him, biting at the angle of his neck against the pillows, licking his way slowly up to the curve of Dean’s ear.

“God, want it so bad, don’t you? Love how much you want it. Can’t wait to watch you get fucked, Dean.”

Dean groans, whole body shuddering, and Oliver thrusts, shoving inside him, and God fucking yes, everything inside him exploding like a sunburst. So fucking good and even better, the way Sam gasps, “Fuck yes,” into his ear, body rolling into him, hand sliding into his hair, pulling him into a kiss.

Oliver leans down, chest pressing into Dean’s back, teeth grazing Dean’s shoulder, hips shuddering and then dragging out, slowly teasing, and Sam pulls from Dean’s mouth, kisses Oliver’s, whispers, “Yeah, fuck him.”

Dean’s stomach flips inside out, and fucking Christ, Oliver slamming inside him all the way to the bottom, hitting that sweet spot so hard on the way down, Sam telling him, “God yes, fuck yes.”

“God, listen to him,” Oliver moans, slamming into Dean, and Dean can barely hear him over how good it feels, the way he’s yanking at his bondage and trying to get even more. “The way… he loves it.”

“The sounds he’s making,” Sam says, voice thick with need, breaking across the words. “Fuck.”

And then Sam’s moving, knees gathering up above where Dean’s face is pressed against the pillows his brother’s huge hands gripping him by the jaw and turning him gently until he can see Sam’s rock hard cock, tip leaking pearly white, his brother’s face made of need. 

“Have to feel those sounds, Dean,” Sam breathes, head of his cock pushing at Dean’s mouth, slick insistent push, and Dean opens for him, lets Sam shove inside, feels the length of his hard, hot cock thrust to the back of his throat, muscles fluttering around the feel, and Sam groans, muttering out a string of curses.

“His mouth is amazing,” Oliver gutters, hips shoving into Dean so hard that he sees stars behind his eyes, and he’s getting _so fucked_ from both ends, and God, he’s being good, isn’t he? Taking it like champ, and he just needs them to touch him, his cock so hard it almost hurts, leaking against his thighs.

Rocked back and forth between them, sliding out and thrusting, Oliver’s hand sliding up the back of his neck, into his hair, pushing him into sucking Sam’s cock.

“He’s… such a good boy,” Oliver groans and grunts, cock double thrusting inside Dean, “loves getting fucked... so… much. Don’t you, Dean?”

The push of Oliver’s hand shoves Dean’s mouth up the length of Sam’s cock so deep that his lips touch his brother’s body, and Sam makes a strangled sound, fingers grabbing Dean’s jaw so hard that it almost hurts. Sam comes with a choked off cry, spurting hot and wet down Dean’s throat, and it’s so fucking hot that Dean groans around the length of him, feels Sam shudder in response, fucking into his mouth even harder, Oliver pounding into him, hitting everything inside him that feels so good.

He sucks his brother’s cock, drinking down every last drop of come even when he chokes on it, humming and wanting and needing and trying his damndest to shove into the way Oliver’s drilling into him.

“God,” Sam breathes, yanking from Dean’s mouth. “God, Dean. So fucking hot.” Sam slides down, moves alongside him, kissing him gently while he’s getting fucked within an inch of his life and fuck he really is going to die. “So good, Dean.” 

Sam pulls away, turning his face to look at Oliver. “Make him fucking come. God wanna watch him come on your cock.”

“Jesus Christ,” Oliver whispers, drilling into Dean like a machine, grabbing Dean by the throat, drawing down against his body and fucking him into the mattress. Hand sliding around Dean’s body, down his stomach, fingers closing around his cock, and god fucking yes, one touch is all it takes to undo him, cock jerking and spurting all over his belly, his thighs, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Yeah. Like that,” Sam whispers, kissing him on the mouth, and he can barely even understand what’s happening at this point, but that makes it even hotter, body convulsing inside his bonds.

“God… the way he feels,” Oliver chokes out, driving into him, “coming on my cock--”

Dean whites out then, pleasure wrecking him to the core, and all he can feel is how he’s getting fucked, how he’s coming, knowing Sam is seeing all of it, Oliver fucking him the way he loves it. Knowing Sam _loves_ seeing him like this. Knowing this is going to happen, again and again.

Everything in him pours out through his cock, jerking and spitting out the last few drops, and then he’s done, gone.

 

*

When his eyes flutter open, he’s on his back, untied and free, Oliver pressed up against one side of him, Sam on the other.

He’s naked and covered in his own come, and he wants to care, really wants to, but he’s still trying to breathe.

Oliver nudges against his neck, kisses up the line of his throat, and then lifts his head, looking at Sam.

“There are a lot of monster cases within a few hundred miles radius. There’s a lot of them right here in Smallville. You guys should stick around.”

Sam tilts his face to look at Dean, and then they both nod.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “We should.”

 

 

FINIS

  
  



End file.
